


10 Lords A-Leaping

by Percygranger



Series: The 12 Days of Kinkmas [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom John Watson, Electricity, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safeword Use, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: John makes Sherlock jump on command, as it were.(Originally written in 2014)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The 12 Days of Kinkmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/156215
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	10 Lords A-Leaping

Sherlock tapped his fingers on his thigh. This quickly turned into bouncing a trouser-clad leg; then both. He watched the clock. The second hand was ticking far too slowly for his liking. 

He deliberately pushed his hands into his thighs a bit too hard as he rose to pace. But even this excellent standby failed to distract him. He shook his head sharply, like a horse trying to get rid of a bit. He wasn’t used to being this aware of his body, to  _ wanting _ as deeply as this for anything but drugs, and even then the drugs were different, somehow. Drugs calmed him, but getting what he wanted now? It would make it all even worse. 

Sherlock noticed he was panting, and determinedly took a deep breath. He tried exhaling the tension, but it just felt like it settled deeper in his muscles. Coiled anticipation, winding tighter and tighter with every thought, every minute that passed that he didn’t. Couldn’t. Would not allow himself to touch. 

“John said…” He murmured to himself, cracking the silence like ice. Sherlock stilled, then shook his head again, not liking how it sounded. Tried again. “John said to wait. He asked, he commanded. He’ll give me what I want when he returns. I just. Have to. Wait.” Sherlock clenched his fists, trying to dig his nails into his palms. It didn’t work very well. He resumed pacing, trying not to look at the clock in the futile hope it would tick faster. 

*&*&*

Sherlock had resorted to his most vicious tactics to keep himself distracted, and the flat was sparkling by the time John returned. 

John stopped dead in the entryway, mouth open in surprise. 

Sherlock finished arranging everything on the newly dusted mantle and looked over at John, suddenly unsure whether this had been the right thing to do after all.

The silence stretched. Sherlock broke it with an almost-casual “Not good?”

John grinned, shaking his head. “Jesus. I didn’t know you could clean.”

Sherlock relaxed minutely. The grin meant it was probably alright. John did like things clean, but he hadn’t said it yet...

John moved further inside the flat, inspecting the shining wood, the crumbless chairs, the vacuumed floors. “If I knew you’d do this I would’ve tried telling you not to touch yourself sooner.” 

Sherlock bit back a noise at that. John looked up, and Sherlock felt transfixed, lost in John’s eyes for a subjective eon, reminded of his body and just what he’d been trying to escape by doing this. John smiled, slow and seductive. Sherlock swallowed, suddenly far too aware of his hands. He swung them forward, then back, finally settling on grasping them behind his back, feeling his shirt cuffs rustle around his wrists. 

John’s smile quirked, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Sherlock. 

“I-” Sherlock cleared his throat when his voice came out scratchy, “I almost couldn’t stop myself.” 

“Oh?” John settled in his chair, motioning for Sherlock to join him. 

Sherlock walked the few steps he needed to be alongside John, then knelt slowly and carefully, keeping his hands clasped. He heard John’s breathing speed up and grinned privately, only letting it show in his eyes. He leaned against John’s knee. John’s hand settled on his head and Sherlock felt most of the tension he was holding drain away. Words poured out with it.

“This is  _ hard _ , John. Almost as bad as needing a fix or a cigarette. You know I didn’t even like sex all that much before you and now-” Sherlock sighed, shuffling closer. John’s hand slipped down to his neck, tracing his nape. “Now you say ‘don’t touch’ and it’s all I can think about. It’s maddening, this awareness. I thought I was aware before, but never like this. I’d be angry about it but this is something we’re doing together. I know you won’t let it go too far.”

John tsked. “ _ We _ don’t let it go too far, Sherlock. I rely on you the same way you rely on me. It gets to be too much; you safeword, and I will never be mad if you safeword. Do we need to practice that again?” 

Sherlock shivered, remembering the scenes they’d done once John had realized Sherlock’s reluctance to admit his own limits. “No. Not right now, at least. It’s hard but it’s good, I promise.”

“Good.” John trailed fingers and lightly swirled them in Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock hummed and slumped a little more, resting most of his weight against John now. 

They drifted into silence, and stayed as they were for a short while. John petted Sherlock, tracing the lines of his face and neck, scritching gently into his scalp as Sherlock melted into John’s touch. 

Finally, John pulled back. “Alright then, time for dinner, hm?” 

Sherlock murmured in mild discontent, wanting his hand back. But John didn’t relent, pushing himself up and guiding Sherlock to his feet and to the kitchen. They made dinner together in mostly silence, John directing Sherlock in a task as he worked in tandem. Their shoulders occasionally brushing, John would unnecessarily guide Sherlock’s hands as they chopped vegetables, or poured oil. The generous amount of contact, plus fleeting kisses and bites, had a visible effect on Sherlock. He was flushed and panting by the time dinner was ready. 

They settled at the newly cleared table, John smiling approvingly at it. 

“We are going to have to do this more often, hmm?” He said, tone light, expression teasing. 

Sherlock bit his lip and said nothing.

“I think I liked you with hands behind your back, but you do need to eat… How about legs wide, shoulders back, hands above the table at all times?” 

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. “Yes, John.” 

John smiled. “Good boy.” 

They ate, John taking a measured pace that Sherlock tried to imitate. It was difficult with the distractions John kept throwing at him. Sherlock jumped the first time John’s sock-covered foot brushed his calf. Checking up on him, Sherlock supposed, but the foot came back and wandered higher, until Sherlock was straining not to move forward. John was offering the touch Sherlock couldn’t give himself, but wasn’t following through. Fuck. 

John chuckled as he saw Sherlock figure it out. “Ask nicely and I might.” He taunted.

Sherlock weighed the choice. He wanted, oh yes. Begging this early on might only get him short term results. He doubted it would help his long term chances, but it probably wouldn’t hurt them much, either.

“Please touch me, sir?” Sherlock didn’t have to fake the intensity of his gaze, the pleading (pleasing) lines of his body language.

*&*&*

The walk to the bedroom was a careful dance. Sherlock and John were both aroused, but also very aware of the rules of the game. Neither wanted to be the one who upset the give and take of desire and control.

John made a small, deliberate hand gesture and Sherlock began to take off his clothing slowly. He paid careful attention to each button, well aware of John’s eyes on his fingers. He eeled out of his shirt and trousers, shoes and socks, leaving his straining pants. The cool air tightened his nipples and raised goosebumps over his arms, the hairs standing on end. Sherlock looked up through his lashes, deliberately seductive.

John grinned. “Nice. On the bed, face up for me.”

Sherlock started towards their bed, and John went to the closet, pulling out a box that made Sherlock’s breath stutter slightly. 

“You’re going to earn it tonight, dearest.” John said lightly, carrying a small box with wires carefully coiled and hung on it. “Arms up, hold the headboard.” 

Sherlock reached up, stretching slightly as he found the most comfortable place to grip. John uncoiled one wire, revealing the pad it was attached to. He peeled off the plastic backing, and placed it precisely on Sherlock’s chest, rubbing it firmly to get the glue to stick. Repeated the steps on the other side. 

John looked at Sherlock, getting his full attention. “I think I’ll work all your muscle groups, pectoralis major.” He pressed two fingers into Sherlock’s chest. “Rectus abdominis…” He trailed his fingers down the middle of Sherlock’s stomach, the pressure light. 

Sherlock shivered, fighting the urge to move into the touch.

“All the way down to here.” John stroked Sherlock’s inner thighs, “the pectineus. We’ll just have to see how long you can hold out after that, hmm?” His gaze made what might’ve been a rhetorical question wonderfully serious.

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock said, voice calm, but his muscles clenched under John’s hand.

*&*&*

Sherlock gasped as his abdominal muscles clenched, body bowing slightly. He was covered in sweat, muscles burning. His hands ached from holding on so tightly, chest reminding him of the abuse it had just suffered if he moved his arms too much. He looked into John’s eyes. His dom’s gaze was clear and calm, although his mouth was open, arousal making him breathe heavily.

John smiled at Sherlock, expression both approving and hungry, and turned the dial on the control again. Sherlock whimpered, caught in agony, in connection with John, unable to look away. His body relaxed abruptly as John turned the dial back down, leaving him panting against the sheets. 

Leaning in to kiss Sherlock, John’s free hand held Sherlock’s chin steady. Then he leaned back, played over Sherlock’s chest. Light brushes of sensation made Sherlock shiver, even that small movement making the ache of overused muscles flare. He groaned as John’s fingers found a nipple, but John moved on quickly, going to trace the skin around the leads. Sherlock dearly wanted to push into John’s hands, elicit more, but he’d already tried that once, and regretted it. 

Sherlock might need reining in, but he learned from his mistakes. There was a mindfuck of sorts in enforcing passivity, of following orders to do nothing. He wasn’t truly free to react as he wished, but at the same time he was entirely at another’s: John’s, mercy. The tension of holding himself back and letting John do what he would only fed his arousal. Sherlock could no more be embarrassed by his hard cock than John was. Which was not at all.

John turned the dial again, making Sherlock tense up, throat closing on another groan. The agony of overused muscles was exquisite when Sherlock knew exactly how much John was enjoying his ordeal. The current ceased and his body unstrung itself, head hitting the pillow. Sherlock panted, breath hitching at the overload of sensation. The physical by itself would have been bearable, but the emotional buildup and everything John had been doing to put Sherlock in his place made him feel like he was drowning. 

Sherlock caught John moving out of the corner of his eye, strong hand reaching for the leads. John peeled them off and moved them down, teasing around the edges of Sherlock’s underwear. He stuck them to the front of Sherlock’s thighs, the tender, thorough gestures making Sherlock whine. Moving back to the control, John grasped the dial.

“Please,” Sherlock begged, suddenly panicked at the thought of more, “I can’t- yellow, please.” 

John looked up, slight concern creasing his brow. He put the control obviously aside. “Of course, darling.” Reaching up to stroke Sherlock’s face, he asked, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m,” Sherlock licked dry lips, “fine.” He couldn’t find a good place to look, John’s eyes were too direct. The wall was too far… “Just need a little time, please?” 

“Certainly.” John stroked Sherlock’s face soothingly for several moments, then leaned over and brought back a bottle of water. “Drink this for me?” 

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock said, the honorific automatic and barely considered.

Smiling, John carefully fed Sherlock the water. 

Sherlock gulped the liquid eagerly. Finally pulling back, he took a breath and said, “Okay.” And briefly met John’s eyes. 

“Alright, then.” John grinned, and pushed himself back down the bed to find the control again.

*&*&*

By the time John touched Sherlock’s body, his cock, with the intent to do more than tease, Sherlock was sensitized enough to cry out at the lightest brush. John paid no attention to his moans, stripping out of his clothes with one hand as he dragged heavy fingers across skin that felt sunburnt. Sherlock spiraled just a little farther down into the pleasure/pain, the new sensations keeping him alert. He felt drugged, and desperate, so desperate. 

“Please,” Sherlock gasped.

“Just one second…” John replied, temporarily abandoning Sherlock’s body to pull off his shirt. “You’ve been so good. Taking all that for me.” Naked, he climbed on the bed, straddling Sherlock. Their cocks brushing made John gasp and Sherlock moan. “You can let go now.” John motioned to the headboard.

Sherlock released the wood, hands aching. He flexed them slowly, encouraging the blood flow back. Then he hesitated, not sure where to move. 

John grinned at his dilemma, “Put those anywhere you like on me, but no touching yourself.” He skimmed a hand up Sherlock’s torso. The light, teasing touch made Sherlock’s already burning muscles contract, wringing a groan. Sherlock hardly felt the pull towards shame such an outburst would usually prompt. Now, he was pleasantly drowning under the inexorable weight of John’s control.

They frotted together. Sherlock pet John’s thighs, tracing the curve of his abdomen, but avoided their cocks, wary of breaking the rules. He groaned as John brought his own hands into play, a squirt of lube making sensation explode as he created a tight ring for them to rub into. The other traced Sherlock’s nipples, dragged up to his neck, slick with sweat, and steadied his head, thumb following a sharp cheekbone.

Sherlock had no control left. He grasped John’s legs in a tight grip as he thrust up over and over, following John’s rhythm. John took them nearly to the peak, speeding up until Sherlock moaned, the sound high and breathy. Then he slowed down again. It was all Sherlock could do to keep himself from touching, to follow John’s lead and let his tired, sore muscles keep working slower and slower. 

John leaned in, kissing Sherlock gently on the lips. It was a benediction, approval and appreciation combined into something physical. 

“So good for me,” John whispered, and started to speed them up again, hips and hand working in a delicious tandem.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered back, barely able to get the words out, and fell back into sensation. 

John pushed them up and up and up, steadily increasing their tempo. He moved Sherlock past his exhaustion, creating a new state of endorphin-kissed bliss. Gentle kisses turned rougher against the side of Sherlock’s neck, the top of his shoulder. John bit at the jut of Sherlock’s collarbone as he thrust them roughly over the edge. Both of them cried out, barely a minute apart. 

They slowly stilled, panting. It was hot and sticky where they touched, a mess between them. John collapsed to the side with a contented noise, only to grunt when his hand met with cooling semen, attempting a caress. Sherlock grinned at him, still high, not willing to give up the feeling. 

“Right, right…” John sighed, and reached for a cloth to clean them up. Sherlock lay, passive by inclination and choice this time, savouring John’s attentions. He took the cup of water handed to him and wet his dry throat. John didn’t require any more from him, and Sherlock drifted, mind quiet, body pleased, soul appeased. 

John lay down beside him, chores complete, and they cuddled for a measure of time Sherlock didn’t bother to count. He deserved a break every now and then from his own brain, and this result was certainly worth the waiting, and the effort.


End file.
